


the obloquy of newness may fall bitterly

by Beastrage



Category: Kingdom Hearts (Video Games)
Genre: Alcohol, Culturebuilding, Fall of Radiant Garden (Kingdom Hearts), Gen, Human Experimentation, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Possession, Swearing, Worldbuilding, Xehanort's Bad Luck with Children, no update schedule
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:47:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29207589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beastrage/pseuds/Beastrage
Summary: A Keyblade Master falls to prevent the rise of Darkness and to save a dear friend. Unknowing of the brutal reality that the friend in question carries the seeds of destruction, of that Darkness inside...enough to bring a new age to all worlds. An age of Darkness.A family of academics and guards takes in a young amnesiac as one of their own. What happens next is sure to rip the Heart out of your chest!(The Fall of Radiant Garden as you’ve never read it before.)
Relationships: Braig & Xehanort (Kingdom Hearts)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	the obloquy of newness may fall bitterly

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from "And remember men will scorn it, 'tis original and true, And the obloquy of newness may fall bitterly on you" lines from the poem of The Old Astronomer to His Pupil.  
> Prepare for intensive world-building, particularly for Radiant Garden culture. I use aspects of it in my other works, but don't worry all will be explained, no need to read my other stuff to get it.

(“This world is just too small.”)

He wakes slowly, eyelids fluttering under a too bright light. 

“Uuuh.” Groans and turns over. 

“You awake yet?”

He blinks blearily in the speaker’s direction. “What?”

“Gonna take that as a yes...” The speaker in question leans closer, allowing him to get a better look at the individual in question. 

A man with an eyepatch and a single yellow eye, looking him over. There’s scars, on both sides of his face, but the most prominent one arches on the man’s left cheek. He wears a red scarf, and something in blue that looks like a uniform of some sort. Sitting on a stool, apparently watching over him. 

The newly awakened individual takes this all in and recognizes  _ none of it.  _

“Who are you?”

The one-eyed man’s face falls. “What, you don’t remember me?”

“If I did, I wouldn’t be asking, now would I?” he asks, more than slightly peeved. 

“Let’s see here...” The one-eyed man taps his fingers against his leg. Snaps his fingers alongside a moment of realization. “Ah, you got a name?”

“Of course. It’s...” Hm. Does he know his name? Yes, of course, he does. Like he knows the back of his hand. 

“Xehanort.”

The one-eyed man leans back, something relaxing in his face. His shoulders fall from their tense state. “Well, that’s something at least. “

“Braig! You better not be bothering our patient!” Another male speaker, from outside the room. Possibly coming down a hall. 

“I’m not bothering anyone!” ‘Braig’ shouts back. He turns back to Xehanort. “Right?”

Xehanort narrows his eyes. “At this rate, you might.”

The man laughs. “Ha, that sounds about right. Sooo...what do you remember? Anything other than the name?”

Xehanort considers the question. He...doesn’t actually recall anything, thinking about it. He knows the basic names of things, that he’s in a bed. 

But anything more personal than his name? Xehanort strains and there’s  _ nothing.  _

Don’t tell him anything, lie, something whispers. Xehanort mentally shakes the idea off. What would he gain by lying about knowing nothing? 

The truth would just come out with any further questions, too easy to see through a lie on that. 

“No, I don’t.”

Braig frowns. His gloved hand reaches up to tug at his eyepatch. “Well, that’s just fantastic.”

Another individual walks through the door, waving his hands. Long blond hair, sharp green narrows, tall and thin. Wearing a white coat over a sweater and slacks. 

“Braig, you shouldn’t be bothering him! With the condition we found him in, he still needs time to recover.”

Braig gestures to Xehanort. “He seems pretty okay to me, Even. Other than the big blank spots where his memory should be.”

This makes ‘Even’ draw back. Frown. The expression seems especially fitting on his face, Xehanort can’t help but think. “Is that so?”

“Yep! You can ask him himself.”

“How odd...truly nothing at all? Not a home, a family, anything about how you got to our courtyard in your condition?” Even shoots the questions out at a rapid fire pace. 

Xehanort shakes his head. “Just my name.” His hand goes to his head, currently aching. Worry nudges at the edge of his consciousness, gradually building up to noticeable levels. “Did I...hit my head, perhaps? Could that be the cause?”

“Possibly,” Even allows, “Though I’m no expert on head injuries...”

Braig coughs out a laugh. “Didn’t think I’d ever see the day that you of all people would admit not being an expert, ha!”

Even turns on him. “Like you’re any better at medical procedures!”

“Hey, I’m not a doctor!” Braig puts his hands up in mock surrender. 

“I am not one either! Not a medical one,” Even huffs. 

Okay, that revelation may be  _ slightly  _ concerning. Slightly. 

“Then who healed me?” Xehanort inquires, hands tight in his lap. 

Even waves a dismissive hand. “A healer by the name of Ifalna. She said if there were any complications to call her back.”

“Complications that you’re not really having,” Braig shrugs. 

“Other than my ongoing memory loss?” Xehanort asks dryly. 

Braig tugs at his scarf. “Huh, that does count as one. You’re right.”

“I usually am.” The words fall off Xehanort’s lips as if by rote. Natural. 

Braig laughs in response, eye looking between Even and Xehanort. “Two know-it-alls, won’t that be fun.”

“I cannot be accurately called that, with my memory loss,” Xehanort points out. 

“Even better! A sense of humor.” Braig turns to Even, rising from his stool. “Maybe you can learn something from him, Even.”

“Not all of us are amused by the same immaturities you are, Braig.” Even folds his arms over his chest, frown deepening. 

“Says the man who makes chemistry jokes.”

“That is a  _ basic  _ form of humor.”

Braig points. “See, you just made one!”

“And you identified it, so who is the true ‘nerd’ now?”

“Still definitely you.”

Xehanort interrupts the interplay before it can go any further. “Are you going to call this healer then? Or is memory loss not properly considered a complication?”

“At this time of night? Not when it doesn’t seem particularly life-threatening...” Even thinks out loud. “We’ll call for her in the morning.”

At this time of night? “What time is it?”

Braig and Even exchange glances. Braig rubs at his eyepatch. “Well...about moonhigh right now? Right?”

Even nods curtly.

Before Xehanort can ask exactly what ‘moonhigh’ means, Braig clarifies, “Around one in the morning, that’s the time.”

Huh.

“It’s awfully bright in here for one in morning,” Xehanort’s mouth says out loud. 

Braig and Even look at each other again. 

“Well...” Braig says slowly, “We had to check you weren’t going to die, you know?”

“And a strange visitor appearing in the courtyard? Of course everyone in the castle is up,” Even huffs again, throwing out a hand. “Especially when none of us have never met or seen this visitor around here before. Your skin makes you...particularly noticeable, around here.”

Xehanort narrows his eyes. Look at his brown hands. His skin, hm? 

Really. Isn’t that interesting?

“None of you know who I am, then?” Xehanort checks. 

“Of course not,” Even says. “Xehanort isn’t a name in the citizen registry, Master Ansem checked.”

“Doesn’t mean he doesn’t live around here,” Braig points out, “I wasn’t on the citizen registry when I got hired and I’ve been here for pretty much all of my life so far.”

“True.”

While they’re talking (again), Xehanort carefully eyes Braig. No one knows him here? But then why did Braig ask ‘do you remember me’ before Even came in? Expecting an answer in the positive, disappointed when it wasn’t. 

Hadn’t brought it up again, though, not with Even around. Nor had he disagreed with Even when the man stated that no one here knew Xehanort. 

Why?

Should he bring it up?

Xehanort twists his fingers in the thin covers, thinking. 

No, not yet, he decides. He doesn’t know enough yet. Know why these people have taken him in. Maybe it is out of the kindness of their Hearts...but what if it isn’t?

Wait. Watch. 

Corner Braig later, if needs be. If they let him stay. 

“Where will I be staying?”

Even looks surprised. “Why, here, of course. We have most resources to investigate.”

“Plus we need to keep an eye out on you,” Braig adds, “What if you turned out to be some kind of murderer?” 

He laughs as Even turns on him. “Your idiotic sense of humor is going to get you in trouble one of these days, Braig!” he hisses. 

“It probably already has...” Xehanort mumbles. 

“What was that?” Braig turns to him, his yellow eye bright. 

Xehanort gestures to his own right eye, to where the eyepatch sits on Braig’s face. “I said it probably already has caught up to you, judging by that eye.”

Braig stares. The gaze is slightly discomforting for a reason Xehanort can’t quite place. Maybe it’s because there’s only one judgemental eye staring at him. 

Even cackles. “Is that what happened? Of course!”

Braig folds his arms over his chest, after tugging his scarf into place. “Workplace accident, and that’s all I’m saying.”

“One of these days the truth will come out, Braig, it always does.”

“Not yet, that’s all I’m saying.” Braig looks away, tugging at his scarf again. 

Even narrows his eyes. “Are you...embarrassed? You are, aren’t you? Shameless Braig, ashamed.”

“As if!” Braig waves his hands. “Nothing embarrassing or ridiculous happened at all! Just business!”

Xehanort settles down in his bed, content to watch the ongoing show. 

A pleasant enough distraction from the budding ache in his shoulders and skull. Good for gathering more information on these individuals he’ll most likely be spending more time with, if they live here and are expecting him to stay here too. 

A whisper, in his chest.  _ Don’t trust Braig, can’t trust him.  _

Hm. Braig certainly knows more than he’s saying...but is he trustworthy? Or untrustworthy, like the whisper claims? And what about Even?

Only time (and observation) will tell. 

~

“What is this...Xehanort like?” Ansem asks, looking up to meet Braig in the eye. 

Waiting for a full report. 

The guard obliges. 

“So far?” Braig shrugs. “Seems pretty chill to me. Name’s confirmed Xehanort and he’s an amnesiac. No memory of anything else, how crazy is that?”

“No memory? Curious.” Ansem looks over his stack of files and paperwork. Histories he’s looked through in attempts to find any ‘Xehanort'.’ Nothing. 

With how anal some of his precedessors were on documenting the human inhabitants of Raidant Garden, it’s a shock. 

Unless the young man is only partly human. Only in recent years has movement been made on surveying members of the other residing races in Radiant Garden, and counting their numbers. 

Very possible that Xehanort could be an offshoot between a human and a fey, for example. Like Dilan. ‘Half-breeds’ as they’re called, don’t tend to be recorded for a number of reasons. 

But all of that theorizing will have to wait on more solid data. 

“Nothing, boss?” Braig asks, sounding unsurprised. 

Ansem shakes his head. “Not even a fragment.” He flips through to the next page of names. “Much like you, in fact. Is it possible he’s from the city outskirts as well?”

Braig shrugs. “Don’t think so. He looks kinda different from most people around here, doesn’t he?”

“That he does,” Ansem agrees. He puts the pages away in their designated folder, rubs at his eyes. “It’s late enough. Your shift should be over by now, shouldn’t it?”

Braig shrugs again, the movement made even more purposefully casual. “Guess that’s true.”

Ansem sighs, puts the folder down, to meet Braig directly in the eye. “As of now, you are off duty. Go get some sleep.”

“Are you going to, too, sir?” Braig asks right out. 

“I will.” Ansem smiles, rising from his desk. “In fact, why don’t you come with me?”

Caught! Braig’s face twitches. But the man does follow behind, as Ansem leaves. Locking up his office behind them. 

Ansem blinks, trying to keep the sleep out of his eyes. Tired. 

He’ll hit the records again tomorrow. Perhaps talk to this young man himself, in hopefully much better circumstances than their first meeting. 

And speaking of that first meeting...

“We’ll have to look at that armor sometime,” Ansem muses out loud. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Looks kinda funny, doesn’t it?” Braig contributes. “With that sword.”

“Only because we don’t know what it was supposed to defend against,” Ansem says patiently. 

“Hmm.” Braig seems much less talkative than usual. Probably tired, he had been watching over Xehanort for several days, waiting for him to walk. 

He claims to have never met the young man before. But.

Ansem wonders. Braig talks little of his past. Perhaps the young man reminds him of someone he’s met before, a family member?

Whoever that may be, Ansem will wait patiently. 

Braig will talk about his troubles, eventually. 

~

Tifa Lockhart is ten years old and proud of every year. 

Finally old enough to help her dad out with  _ Seventh Heaven.  _

She skips outside, ready to face the day. 

Eight o’ clock, every morning, she’s supposed to water the flowers before getting ready for school. 

Tifa dips her small red watering can over each pot dutifully, careful not to waste a drop. 

“There! You’re going to be big and strong in no time,” she informs the budding flowers cheerfully. “And give the bees plenty of nectar!”

She hums to herself. Nectar to the bees, to honey to mead! And mead’s what keeps  _ Seventh Heaven  _ going, her dad said. 

When she’s down watering...there’s a sound. Like growling. Tifa looks around frantically. Nothing. The noise continues. Where could it be coming from?

Frowns. Tilts her head. Hears...snoring? 

Tifa looks up. Her eyes catch a familiar flash of red and blue. 

“Dad! There’s that man on the roof again!”

~

Dilan sighs, and the breath is enough to shake his entire body with exasperation. 

Aeleus is busy apologizing to the bar owner  _ yet again,  _ leaving him to take care of Braig’s most recent nonsense. 

Dilan’s gloved hands go on his hips, as he stares up at Braig drunkenly snoozing in the roof gutters of  _ Seventh Heaven  _ like a stray cat. 

He calls out, “Braig!”

The man doesn’t respond. At all. His dangling foot waves back and forth in the air, but that might be wind. 

For all the complaints about Braig’s attitude, the man is actually fairly reliable. It’s only every once in a while, on certain dates Dilan has yet to completely write down for later (so to prevent such shenanigans), that his fellow guard goes off the rails. 

Gets himself stuck in things like a wild animal might. 

Dilan raises his voice. “Braig!”

“Wha-!?” Braig jerks up, and instantly flails for a new grip as he falls off his precarious perch. Slips off. 

“Ah!”

Good thing’s Dilan down at the bottom to catch him. 

“Oof.” He barely grunts, as the man’s light weight barrels into him. As much as a bunch of grapes, really. 

Dilan lowers Braig to the ground, nose wrinkling at the stink of alcohol. Mead. Braig must have gone straight for the strongest, if he smells this bad. 

Braig gargles something that sounds like ‘ace’ and ‘bear’ as he leans against Dilan. 

“What is it this time?” Aeleus walks over, looking over Braig carefully. 

Dilan shakes his head. “You know he won’t tell us anything when he’s sober.”

Independent, secretive, even with his constant noisness...Braig shares more than odd sleeping places with the local cats. 

“Plans fucked,” Braig slurs, “ _ Fucked.”  _ He nods solemnly, like his drunken nonsense holds the secrets of the universe. 

“Sure they are.” Dilan hikes up Braig further against his shoulder, supporting more of his weight. 

Dead weight, really, at this point. 

“Time to go home.”

Braig sobs, a bit, at that. “Nevar go home...” he mutters, digging his boney elbows into Dilan’s side. 

Dilan exchanges a look with Aeleus, rolling his eyes in the process. 

“Drunk much more than usual,” Aeleus notes, “to be having  _ this  _ reaction.”

Dilan sighs. “Something to do with that man we found, you think?”

“I won’t take that bet,” Aeleus replies. He steps forward, to help Dilan support Braig better. 

“Let’s go home.”


End file.
